Clichés That Make You Wanna Die
by Azula's Favorite Prisoner
Summary: I hate Ginny—I THINK I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU, HERMIONE!" "Shut up, you fag."


**A/n: Nah. I don't think I can catch up to the brilliant and wonderful Jo Anne Rowling.**

Hello. I'm Harry Potter—well, not really. Some stupid authors decided to morph me into some sort of non-cannon guy who is more Gary-Stu-ish than before.

Before I can start the story, I have to tell you about me. You see, I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. I'm pretty much smarter than Ron even though in cannon I actually have the same level of intelligence as he does. In the books, I'm a skinny and scrawny boy who is about 5'6. But since this is a Harmony fan fiction, I have to be muscular, 6'0 and hot.

Let's talk about Ron. He's my best friend. I honestly don't know why I call him that—since this is a Harmony story, I HAVE to hate him even though he is one of my only true friends. He's not dumb, but since he can't be with Hermione, he has to be stupid.

He is SO annoying and wimpy—I hate him _so_ much!

I used to love Ginny until I realized how ditsy and slutty she was. She dated three guys. _Three_ guys! SHE'S SUCH A WHORE, MY GOD! I'm pretty sure that if if dating three people made you a slut, then everyone would be sluts. To bad Ginny-bashers don't think so.

Hermione is my other best-friend. She's SO pretty and cute and stuff like that—oh, wait, I shouldn't be talking like that! She's my best-friend!

So, er, yeah, back to the story.

I was in the Dursley's house. You see, I'm turning seventeen in a couple of weeks—I can't wait till I'm outta _heah!_

So, yeah, they were making me clean the floor with my toothbrush. It was the same toothbrush I've used since I was three. It was probably one of the cleanest things I own, so I treasured it and kept it safe.

"Get up, you lazy piece of shit!" Bellowed my _dear_ Uncle Vernon, smacking my cheek. We got along _so_ well.

"What did I do?" I groaned, rubbing the bruise that was probably forming on my cheek. I studied his expression. His face was purple, but the vain on his forehead was throbbing uncontrollably. To be honest, my uncle very much resembled a constipated purple hippo.

"One of _your_ kind has sent you_ messages_ with that ruddy _owl_ of yours!" He was holding Hedwigs cage. The putrid smell that seemed to be coming from his arm pits seemed to be choking Hedwig, but I was too suave to care.

"I'm sorry if I like to communicate with my kind!" I countered. "Where's the letter?" I asked like a squeamish school girl.

"In Africa—MY HAND, YOU DOLT!" He looked livid.

"God, I was just asking," Harry murmured.

"I DO NOT LIKE IT WHEN FREAKS ASK ME QUESTIONS!"

"So you don't like it when your family asks you questions?" I giggled at my oh so witty remark.

"I'm only giving you one last chance, Potter!" Growled my uncle. He threw the letter on my bed without being careful. His bad aim, though, made the envelope cut my hand, but since I'm so strong and amazing, I did not even notice it.

I was pleased to see that he did not open it. He probably thought that it would be about witch craft and stuff like that.

I slowly opened the envelope, dramatic music making me jittery.

"Can someone turn down the music?" Yeah. Sorry.

I glanced at the signature of the letter. My heart fluttered when it read—

"Hermione!" I was kind of scared since I used a gay word like "flutter" and "Hermione" in the same sentence, but the large organ in my chest was throbbing as I read the letter.

_Dear Harry (that sounds a little over-used, right? You know I should be a bit more creative than that since I'm really smart—)_

Yeah, shut up, bitch.

_Anyway, how was your summer? Mine was awfully boring. I'm pretty sure you summer wasn't particularly fun either. _

_I started to do a bit of light reading (or at least continued)—_

Harry smiled (more like gave a giggle-snort) at the words on the paper.

_And I was wondering if you have done anything too? Roland and Virginia (or whatever their names are) keep on badgering me with questions about Viktor and what my favorite color is!_

_Anyway, I'm inviting you over to my house. I want a reply. If you don't reply, we'll just come over and drag you out. Then, in about two weeks, we'll go to that ratty home, The Burrow that has that manipulative bitch Molly and those stupid twins Fred and George...and with those two unimportant characters, Bill and Charlie...and that geeky one, Percy. Or Smercy. Is it Roland, Virginia, Phill, Barlie, Sed and Morge...? I don't care about them. I love you, only you—forget I said that. _

_I would usually ask you a bunch of questions, but I see a letter from that idiot Ron I'm _SO _not in love with._

_Well, Toodles, Harry!_

_P.S. Just a reminder, but we'll drag you from your home if you don't reply. I think I mentioned that._

But I, living with the abusive relatives I had, was not able to contact Hermione and tell her that it would be lovely for me to go with her.

_BAM!_

I was just eating some breakfast dome morning, and I see a green car in the living room.

I giggled.

Aunt Petunia's going to be _pissed!_

"Who are you? I want to thank you for—" I was cut off by a bushy-haired girl hugging me fiercely. How she got out from the car to me in a second is a mystery.

"Whoa—Hermione?" I could tell it was her 'cause she smelt like daisies, roses, daffodils, rosemary...lilies...every flower that smell good. She even smelt like strawberries and apples...I like apples...

**A/n: Hi. If you look at my profile, you might not see anything about me. This is just a second pen name I go under when I have too many documents for my other document manager to hold. **

**I might hold a strong grudge against Harmony, but that does not mean that I don't read it. I'm VERY interested in Harmony, and I might start writing a serious Harmony story soon.**

**As to those Ron/ Hermione lovers like myself, this is just my way of expressing the usual cliché-ness of stories in general.**

**I am known as Too Young To Be Serious with my original pen name.  
**


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